


A Little Strange And Queer

by CaptainLordAuditor



Series: New Americana [6]
Category: Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, Edwardian Period, M/M, Post-Canon, brief use of the word queer, in both meanings of the term, oblivious heterosexuals, period accurate slang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 19:51:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16646639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainLordAuditor/pseuds/CaptainLordAuditor
Summary: For rent: Rooms to any young, refined bachelors of sophisticated taste. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a parlor. Well furnished.  Breakfast and dinner provided. $20 a week. Inquire at no.27, 85th Street.Notice: Taken.





	A Little Strange And Queer

Mrs. Elizabeth Fenwick did not _dislike_ any of her lodgers.

She would never complain. There was nothing to complain about with Mr. Conlon and Mr. Higgins. Their rent was always on time, they were generally polite, always respectful. But they were very odd.

For starters there were their hours. She couldn’t think of any reason why they should stay out until close to midnight every night, nor why they should go back to bed right after breakfast. Mr. Higgins even did this on Sundays, when Mr. Conlon went to church.

Mrs. Fenwick thought this was very disrespectful of Mr. Higgins, but she wasn’t complaining. Of course not. She would never complain. Apart from a tendency towards swearing, even in mixed company, and Mr. Higgins’ habit of gambling, there was nothing _wrong_ with them. So she had nothing to complain about.

She just didn’t understand anything about Mr. Conlon or Mr. Higgins. It was none of her business, of course. But they were so very strange. She had no idea what either of them did for a living, and she knew they worked. When asked, Mr. Conlon had evaded the question, and Mr. Higgins had said something about working with horses. She couldn’t see why that made their hours so strange, but neither of her sons dealt with horses.

They were strange in other ways, too. Mr. Conlon’s collars came unstarched very easily, and two months into their stay at her house she found rather large blood stains on one of his shirts. After that they gave their laundry to someone else. They both slept in the same bed, despite the rooms they rented having two beds. Mr. Higgins said they’d both grown up in tenement houses and, having gotten used to sharing beds with their siblings for warmth, found having an entire bed to themselves lonesome and cold. Mrs. Fenwick could understand that. She’d had a similar experience.

Mostly, however, what baffled her was their presence in her house at all. Here they were, perfectly nice, respectable, if a little uneducated, young men in their mid twenties. They were both rather handsome, and had decent income. They were both personable, Mr. Higgins perhaps a little more so than Mr. Conlon, and seemed to have no trouble making friends. Indeed, they often had company, young men around their age, and perhaps a little rougher around the edges, but decent enough. Their brothers, they said. How Mr. Higgins had ended up with brothers named Mr. Morris and Mr. Kasprzak was yet another mystery. Larkin, at least, had been explained to her as a pen name that had leaked into the man’s real life.

That was another thing - most of them were introduced to her with actual names, but only most. When they spoke to each other they almost never used their Christian names - and what nicknames! Mr. Higgins was Racetrack, Mr. Conlon was Spot, Mr. Murphy was Hotshot, Mr. Cortes was Finch, and Mrs. Davenport was Buttons, and most of the others were just as strange.

Girls came around too, more occasionally, without any chaperones, which made Mrs. Fenwick shake her head and wonder what the world was coming to. They were not the sort of girls who would normally be in a young man’s rooms without a chaperone (she never would have allowed them if they were), and Mr. Higgins had claimed three of them as his sisters. That certainly explained the very enthusiastic hugs the youngest, identified as Mamie, liked to give him, though they all looked nothing alike. Mrs. Fenwick felt sorry for his mother, having so many children.

But by all rights, she couldn’t possibly find any reason Mr. Higgins and Mr. Conlon were both single, and it really did seem to be by choice. She wanted to try all sorts of things to get them to meet girls, but it didn’t seem polite, not when neither seemed interested. One day after supper she threw caution to the wind.

“My granddaughters, Edith and Grace, are coming to visit this Sunday, after church.” It was just Mr. Higgins she spoke to. Mr. Conlon was out doing whatever it was he did for a living. It was a pity; this pitch might have worked better on him. “I thought perhaps you might come with us and stay and meet them.”

Mr. Higgins looked up at her from his edition of _the Evening World_ and smiled. He had a very disarming smile. It reminded her of her son James. “That’s alright, Mrs. Fenwick. I won’t impose.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be imposing, dear. It’s an invitation. I wouldn’t give it if I didn’t want you there. Oh, do come. They’re lovely young ladies. Who knows? You might even like one of them enough to court. It’s high time you were married, you know, you and Mr. Conlon both. I know you’re a little queer, but I’m sure being strange won’t stop you, you’re such nice young men.”

Mr. Higgins looked at her for a moment then back at his newspaper, coughing for a long moment and then clearing his throat. “I don’t think S - Finnigan wants to get married,” he told her.

 _(’a little queer’, she says,_ he thought _. She has_ no _idea.)_

“Cares more about his work, does he?”

“...Yes,” Mr. Higgins agreed. “He does. Married to the job and all that.”

“Well, you know, that’s quite alright. There’s no reason you can’t find a nice girl and settle down. If you’re worried about leaving Mr. Conlon on his own-”

“Mrs. Fenwick, I don’t want to meet your granddaughters.” This was the first, and would be the last, time he interrupted her. She was startled, and realised that it was nice to be startled by it. Manners were few and far, it seemed. “I’s sure they’s perfect nice girls. But I’s got my eye on someone already.”

Aha! So he did have a sweetheart. Good. He deserved one. “That’s wonderful, dear.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said carelessly. “We can’t get married. She’s Catholic, see, and I…..ain’t. So we’s been trying to sort something out.”

Mr. Higgins didn’t care enough about religion to go to church, but he cared enough not to marry a Catholic.

Yes, he was very queer. But she liked him.

* * *

Race wrapped his arms around Spot from behind and settled his chin over Spot’s shoulder. They stood like that for a moment, enjoying the press of each other’s bodies against themselves after a long day of work, and then Spot turned his head to kiss Race and gently shooed him towards the bed so he could get undressed.

Race lay on the bed, watching him. After a moment he said, “our landlady thinks we should get married.”

Spot froze halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, then laughed. “God. Of course she does. She thinks we’s respectable, too, don’t she?”

“Yup.” Race towed him over towards the bed by his suspenders and began helping him undo his shirt. “She wanted us to meet her granddaughters.”

Spot paused for a moment, clearly trying very hard not to laugh. He mostly succeeded, making a kind of stifled snort that bubbled up and out from his mouth. “Sorry,” he said, then burst into laughter again. “It’s just….her granddaughters?”

“And go to church with them.”

Spot almost bent over in half in laughter. “What did you say?” He climbed into bed beside Race.

Race settled himself against Spot like he always did, his arms around Spot’s waist, head against his shoulder. “The truth.” He nestled deeper into Spot.

Spot stiffened.

Race pressed a kiss onto his collarbone. “That you care more about your work than getting married. And that I’s got my eye on someone already.”

Spot softened and took his hand. “Is that so?”

“Yeah.” Race smiled.

“You should marry them, then.” Spot smiled back.

“Mmm, I would.” Race yawned, curling closer around Spot. “But see, they’s Catholic, and I ain’t. So I figures we can work something out sooner or later, but it’ll take some time.”

“'Course you would. I’s glad to hear it.” Spot leaned his head against Race’s and traced shapes on the back of his spine idly. “You know, I’d marry you in a heartbeat if I could.”

“Mm-hmm,” Race agreed, eyes drifting shut now that he was comfortable. “I’ll let you know when I finds some priest who’ll do it.”

“That ain’t gonna happen for a hundred years,” Spot told him.

Race shrugged. “I’ll find someone. And you’s invited to the wedding, just so’s you knows.”

“Yeah, I’d fucking better be.” Spot shifted downward on the bed slightly so he was more flat and kissed Race’s forehead. “’Night. Love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that's right, I looked up actual rent prices in New York during the turn of the century for this fic. You'd better fucking enjoy it.
> 
> "boyfriend/girlfriend" did not come in until at least the 1920s, so "sweetheart" isn't just a contrivance for a gender neutral term.


End file.
